A/N: This is not a H/L fic, it's more of teacher-student, like the relationship between a Jedi Knight and his Padawan. It's short (really short) but it's describing something that should only take around a minute or so in real time. R&R greatly appreciated!
I stood on the pavement just outside 221B, wrapping my cloak closer around me as the chill winter wind swept past. The curtains were open, but not the laces and I looked longingly at the warm glow emanating from within, the silhouette of the merry group celebrating Christmas.
This would be my last Christmas – my last day here in New London. New Scotland Yard was posting me to New York for "experience" for an extended period of time, and I had spent Christmas Eve doing the paperwork that would allow Holmes to take my place here. He had always been my mentor, whether as a figment of my imagination born out of Dr. Watson's journals, or as a living, breathing person. I was loathe to be pulled out of this living fantasy so soon after it had begun.
Watson and I had asked the Irregulars to accompany Holmes this Christmas, sure that he could use some human company on this occasion. These guys were my only family – I hadn't had parents since I was a teenager, and those two had never given me any reason to like them or miss them. The kids' laughter could be heard even from the street below, and I felt a wry smile tugging at my lips and tears threatening to spill. I had left my presents for those kids and Holmes at the doorstep earlier today and dropped by tonight just to take one last look at the place that had become my second home.
"PRESENTS!" I heard them yell as they heaved the parcels from the corner where I supposed the Christmas tree was. I closed my eyes to stop the tears from coming, and somewhere between ripping paper and yelps of delight, came the sound of some of the most beautiful music I've ever heard. Music played by the human hand, a genuine sound that the modern synthesizers could never recreate to such perfection. I could have stood there all night listening, but I knew it would do no good to wish for something I couldn't have – I had to leave, and that was that.
Trembling, I climbed into my cruiser, trying not to think of all the things I'd be leaving behind. The cruiser door slammed shut, and the silence rang painfully in my ears. As I turned to see the place one last time, the silhouette turned to face the now empty street, save my lone police cruiser. Abruptly, my communication screen flickered on to reveal the Baker Street gang gathered solemnly around the videophone.
"Thank you very much for the gifts Lestrade, we understand why you don't want to join us tonight. Happy Christmas and good luck in your new post; do not forget what you have learnt here. You have been an exemplary inspector so far."
With a chorus of "bye!" and "good luck!" from behind him and a placid smile, the screen blanked out again, leaving me speechless for a moment before I finally broke down and let myself cry.
So much for no emotional attachments, I thought. Composing myself, I stepped down on the accelerator and sped to the airport before I could think. Before I gave myself the chance to turn back.
